Black Tulip
by Silent Assassin mk.1
Summary: What is love? A dialogue based, introspective look at how love is found between the most mismatched couples.
1. Private Universe

A/N: I'd like to make an apology and insert a credit here. In this story, the library girl with a pigtail is referred to as Mina. Now, before you credit me on my choice of name, I'd like to tell you that I didn't think of it. No, it was my friend and fellow writer, Raine Ishida, who is the author of Just Like Me, which I'll plug without any reservation here. If you look in there, you'll find it. It was never my intention to pass another's work as my own and I am sorry if I offended the author or anyone else in doing so.

_**One: Private Universe**_

The salty aroma of brine and sea water floated in through the open balcony area where, silhouetted in a sunset that had lost its glare, Quistis Trepe cut a stoic figure against the darkening western sky. How long she had been standing on the vine-entangled marble balcony was a fact lost in lengthy periods of reminiscing and wistful staring into the dark red clouds. Nobody had thought to ask her if she wanted to join the party, save for a flirtatious invitation to dance from Irvine, and she doubted if anyone even noticed her absence amongst the crowds and scenes of exuberant celebration.

_Story of my life, _she mused somewhat bitterly.

It was commonly acknowledged that Instructor Trepe was known almost as much for her brooding as her extensive fanbase; over the lengthy course of the last month, interspersed with the tumultuous events surrounding Sorceress Ultimecia, she had found time to spend immersed in her thoughts. Everyone had a personal space of their own, which they spent time in when they needed an escape from the pressures of reality, but one could argue that Quistis' was too close to the real world for comfort. One word, a name, repeated _ad infinitum_ until her conscience became clouded, the point where it was impossible to judge where her own mind and the real world took charge.

What she saw in Squall Leonhart she didn't know, but it was something she had seen from a young age, well before Garden and training to be an Instructor, back to a carefree period in her childhood. They blamed the amnesia on GF junctioning, a theory Quistis was reluctant to accept; not one to trust scientific theory, she believed memories would only stay in the mind if the owner considered them important or sentimentally significant. Nevertheless, she and all her compatriots had forgotten the pre-Garden years at an orphanage on the southern crest of Centra, a desolate structure of white brick lined by barren, uninhabitable red desert.

Perhaps it was because, according to her personal theory, there wasn't anything from that time which she immediately remembered, nothing which struck her as a happy time. She was a lonely child for much of her earlier years, spending her time immersed in books taken from the long bookshelves lining the back room of the orphanage, not socialising with the other children for fear of rejection. Her anti-social tendencies frequently came out in anger where she insisted the other children do what she wanted, an act which earned her the tag of "bossy little Quisty" from Irvine, which she wasn't sure suited her now.

Her loneliness stemmed from the absence of parents who might have given her the basic support she needed, and she spent those years avoiding company as much as she could—although she had to tolerate the other children whether she wanted to or not. These self-centred tendencies wore off with age; unlike Squall, she could deal with the absence of other people, and as she grew, she learnt the importance of having shoulders to lean on and support, and to accept the friendship others offered.

Her wine glass now drained after what seemed like an age, she placed it on the edge and gazed into the dark ocean below. The piled clouds on the horizon blurred the demarcation between water and sky, and the fresh breeze had chilled ever so slightly over time.

Movement blurred the corner of her eye, a shadow against the little red light remaining, shifting around gently in time to an unheard melody. She observed them with a feeling of mild resentment, even though she was not one to harbour unkind feelings toward others. But try as she could, she couldn't help the feelings of jealousy whenever she observed her with Squall. The her in question was Rinoa Heartilly, the frivolous freedom fighter from Timber who had appeared in Garden one night and made off with Squall's heart, the person who had changed Squall's entire outlook on life from personal ideologies to alliances and friendships. He had transformed from a taciturn into a true leader, and he was beginning to accept his new station as Garden's commander thanks primarily to Rinoa. Quistis felt the pang of jealousy whenever she saw Rinoa, whether she was with Squall or sitting alone in the library, researching for the SeeD test that would probably never take place.

Quistis wasn't sure why it bothered her; after all, Squall was her pupil and she was his teacher, so it was very difficult to talk to him as a person sometimes. Their conversations always seemed to take on the form of a lecturer giving advice to a member of their audience. But she had a strange fascination with the morose student; mainly because she couldn't understand his tendencies to consider himself instead of showing concern for other people, and the way his attentions drifted from matters at hand to something which concerned him. Sure, he had managed to wrestle his personal demons over the course of his graduation to SeeD, and he had finally managed to find a person who he put before himself on every occasion, but old habits die hard, and Quistis remained unconvinced that he could suddenly abandon all his selfish leanings. Realising that she was thinking too much again, Quistis signalled to the travelling waiter to bring her another drink. As much as she abandoned her own self-absorbed tendencies from her childhood, now was a time she needed to be alone.

------------------------

The overhang a few feet away from Quistis was not a place of regret and indulgence in misery; instead, it was a carefree celebration of new-found freedom, and the one thing all humans needed: love. Not just to love, but to be loved. Squall didn't know how his life had changed so dramatically over the last few weeks, or even what was to become of him in future years, but for the moment he was the happiest he could remember himself being. It was like a time in his childhood where he felt loved, as every child should, but to him this feeling was made more special by the addition of one thing: hope. For years, Squall had struggled with the idea that everything good came to an end at some point, loved ones disappeared into oblivion and any happiness would evaporate as soon as it seemed like he was taking it for granted. Almost to ensure the unseen eye that this wasn't the case, he pulled Rinoa tighter.

At first, she didn't notice the gesture, possibly assuming it was all part of Squall's routine. But when she felt a gloved hand rest on her hair, she looked up at Squall and gave him a smile. It was the smile he'd seen before, back at the Garden Festival; a true, caring smile unspoilt by selfishness and showing the kind of warmth and affection Squall had never been accustomed to. In many ways, he wasn't sure how to react – having never had that kind of love and appreciation when he needed it, it seemed like an alien concept that someone actually needed him. He'd spent so many years of his life searching for someone he could rely on for comfort and compassion, and here he was with a person who considered him to fill that role. And it felt good. For the first time in his life, Squall was putting someone else's interests first.

"Squall?" A gentle voice, accompanied by a playful tap on the nose. Squall shook his head, as if to bring himself back to reality.

"Sorry," he apologized, turning his attention to her. "I was gone for a second there."

"You know, it may seem like a strange question to pose, but what do you actually think about?"

Squall looked down at her, wearing a confused frown. "You know, I've had this pain between my toes for some time now… I don't know, I thought it was just athlete's foot or something."

"You were thinking about me, weren't you?" Rinoa accused.

"If you knew that already, why did you ask?"

"Could be something to do with conversation. After all, you're not exactly good at it, are you?"

"Yeah, I didn't talk to anyone for years," Squall excused himself. "Well, that's if those voices in my head don't count."

"Schizo." She poked him gently. He jerked backwards.

"I'm not a schizo."

"Hey, hey, I'm only kidding," Rinoa laughed, squeezing his arm gently. "You know, you take everything _way_ too seriously."

"Nobody's ever told me that before," Squall replied ironically.

Rinoa giggled, flicking her hair to the side. "You know, you can actually blame your sister for you escapes from reality, if you want. You know, after all that stuff with Laguna and his pals."

"Rinoa," Squall scolded gently. "Would I?"

"Hey, you take the fall for everyone." She adopted a monotonic growl. "I am Squall Leonhart. I don't need anyone else's problems. I live for myself—" She ducked as a weak fist swung over her head, not intended to connect or harm her in any way. In response, she hit him teasingly on the arm. "You big meanie!"

"Sorry," Squall apologized again, this time with a lopsided grin. For the umpteenth time, he told himself how lucky he was to have Rinoa. The feelings he got whenever he looked at or merely thought of her were unlike anything he'd experienced before—it was totally consuming, as if he needed nothing else in his life. As far as was he concerned, she was everything he needed and wanted.

He'd known this for some time—to risk his own life in space to save her told him she was more than just a friend or a client. To him, losing her was like losing a part of himself; as if he couldn't soldier on without that part, he always ensured she remained close to him, like a materialistic instinct.

"Squall!" Rinoa reprimanded again, tilting his head toward her. "Reality check!" she proclaimed, tapping his head intently. "It's the waltz next, remember? I can't be—"

"—Out on the floor alone, I know," Squall resigned, and he allowed her to take his hand and lead him into the dancehall. It was like the first time they met all over again, and he smiled at the retrospective scene. Somehow, though, it seemed a whole lot easier than dancing with a stranger.

------------------------

_Well, the evening's gone as well as I expected it to, _Seifer Almasy told himself as he strode briskly through Balamb Garden's main hall. _A worthless, no-hoper mercenary returning to the place where he wasted so many years of his life only to be told at the end of it, "Oh sorry kid, you were shit all along." _If truer word was never spoken, Seifer had no idea why he'd been invited to the festival in the first place; after all, he had no discernible links with SeeD or the Headmaster, and it seemed he was only being drawn into the celebrations so that he still felt part of the equation. Ironically, his position in the whole saga was something of a pivotal point in the wrong direction—his impassioned attack on the President of Galbadia coincided with the announcement that Edea would be Galbadia's new ambassador, something quite intentional. But how his dream of being a knight became a horrific vendetta against Balamb Garden was something he chalked down to the sorceress' influence.

There was one word that triggered this entire campaign, a name that belonged to the girl he would have done anything for. A girl whose only purpose in life was to find a peace that everyone could share. And yet, somehow this had resulted in a war which consumed lives like a blazing inferno, a ruthless whirlwind which claimed lives like thousands of hands picking flowers in a field coloured by the dawning spring. But at the end of it, she finally had what she wanted, that all-inclusive peace for all nations, and it had nothing to do with him whatsoever. She had said bluntly during one of their confrontations she wanted nothing to do with him, and she was even willing to fight him to halt his homicidal rampage. And now that he was able to control his own emotions, strange feelings arose in his stomach, and he wasn't sure whether it was guilt or regret he was feeling, being someone who cared little for sentiments. It could have been something to do with the fish Raijin cooked the previous day, however.

He had by now forgotten anything they had together, and he was grateful for the intervention of the GFs in that matter. As he entered Balamb Garden's extensive Quad area, he saw no sign of her anywhere, and he was almost grateful for that. Walking back into that ballroom after a month's exile, it would have been like a sign exclaiming "Welcome back, you murderous bastard!" in garish pink neon. Headmaster Cid Kramer was conversing with a lower-rank student near one of the full-length tables, cradling his wine glass and adopting a pinkish tint in his cheeks. The head might have had a partiality for wine, but he wasn't able to hold it all that well.

As Seifer approached Cid, the other student thought it a good time to make herself scarce, and promptly scuttled off in to the nearest clique she could find. Cid's glare wasn't one of caring, or resentment, or even disdain; it was merely a look of apathy which made Seifer feel instantly uncomfortable. He often found it easier when a person shouted his guilt to anyone in earshot, rather than letting him dwell on it.

"Ah, Seifer," Cid said. "I was hoping you'd join us here. Do have a drink, that's what they're there for," Cid proclaimed, sweeping his hand over the pyramids of ornate glass. Try as he could, Seifer couldn't exactly talk to Cid like a friend or a comrade, seeing as this was a man who had petitioned for his expulsion without his knowledge. But he wasn't averse to a shot or two of the finest Trabian whiskey, and selected a shot glass from a nearby rack.

"Never thought I'd be welcomed back here with open arms," Seifer remarked as he tilted his head back and poured the fiery liquid down his throat. He thought he saw a spectre of a smile flit across the Headmaster's face.

"Oh, Seifer, you're a prodigal son to us," Cid responded. "Every lost sheep is welcomed back into the fold, whatever they were cast out for." _Right, _Seifer thought sardonically, but instantly dashed his bitterness, as Cid was technically the only person with any sort of faith in his capabilities. Cid knew exactly what he was capable of, and knew he wasn't afraid to use his powers, so the civil war between Galbadia and Balamb Gardens must not have come as a surprise. Seifer tossed the drained shot-glass onto the table, and Cid in turn placed his own empty wine-glass on the checked tablecloth.

"I think this wine's been drunk before," Seifer commented with a condescending look. Cid chuckled and raised a fresh glass.

"Ah, it's nice to have bad wines sometimes. I get so bored of good ones."

"You know, my romantic dream turned out to be a crock of shit," Seifer mused with an arched eyebrow. "Ain't it strange how you wait years for something to happen, and when it does, it's nothing like what you expected?"

"Indeed," Cid agreed, but his mind was focused on something else—most likely the decanted bottle of Dollet red that was being ferried between Instructors. When Cid's mind turned to wine, it probably didn't have room for anything remotely important—_what a man to run a Garden, _Seifer told himself with a smile and the collection of another shot-glass. Suddenly feeling the need to get out of the Quad, away from the packs of unforgiving trainees he had led a violent campaign against just weeks before, Seifer made his excuses and departed more hastily than someone taking a toilet break would.

------------------------

Batteries – you could never rely on them, Selphie thought to herself with a trench-like frown. Kinda like people – whenever you most need them they give out on you. Sighing defeat, she lowered Irvine's camcorder gently, and turned toward him, bouncing up and down in protest."

"Bummer," she said, her face falling into a sulk. "Not one bit of power left."

"Hey, don't complain," Irvine responded, retrieving the hat from her had and placing it on his own, tilting it downward slightly to obscure his face. "At least we got something. Not sure Zell will be too enthusiastic about his role in there, though."

"I can just see it now," she laughed, raising her fists in a boxing stance. "Turn the damn thing off! Get it off!"

"You know, he really needs to get a girlfriend," Irvine said. "That hotdog obsession is ever so slightly disturbing."

"Hey, you need to get a girlfriend too!" Selphie placed her hands on her hips. "Don't act like _you_ can be a good judge of women, you big stud!"

"Hey, no fair," Irvine whined, quickly swiping a glass of wine from the departing waiter. "You like me, don't you?"

"Not at the moment I don't," Selphie answered, pouting slightly.

"Come on, I know you have feelings for me," Irvine assured her, tossing his hat over to her. She promptly placed it on her head again. "You're just in denial."

"N—" A pause of a few seconds. "Yeah, I suppose I am." This was enough to elicit a smirk from the gunslinger.

As Irvine looked out toward the balcony, where Squall and Rinoa were shadows against a sky painted with black and red, he almost found himself wondering what his own feelings were. From the early teenage years at Galbadia Garden, Irvine had become renowned for his love of female company almost as much as his shooting prowess. It was one of the unwritten rules of the male mind; to not only appreciate this company but to actively seek it, to spend one's time trying to impress the opposite sex.

But Irvine now found himself at something of a crossroads. As much as he made himself out to be revelling in the discovery of female SeeDs at Balamb, his mind was now focused primarily on Selphie, and he was fairly positive the façade hadn't fooled her either. He wished he didn't find her carefree character and sweet charm so fascinating, but there was an untouched depth to her character—she was a complex web of emotions, not just the attractive facial features he took delight in. She was there in his mind, even when he was deliberately flirted with students and instructors alike. It was a problem that wasn't going away, mainly because it was a problem without a visible solution.

"Sweet, aren't they?" Selphie commented, and Irvine realised she was standing right next to him, staring intently in the same direction. "They were made for each other, don't you think?"

"Ah, I suppose time will tell," Irvine replied. "Squall's got more personal problems than Dr. Kadowaki's guidebooks, but I suppose only a love-crazy fool would jump out of a space station and smash up the Sorceress Memorial."

"Shame we didn't get any footage of them together," Selphie sighed, ruing the missed opportunity. Immediately, she turned to Irvine, and frowned when she saw the disdainful expression he now wore. "What? I'm a girl, we like gossip! Come on, it's not like we have anything better to talk about, is it?" Involuntarily, Irvine found himself smiling again.

------------------------

The person who strode intently through the glass doors was not the one Quistis was expecting; automatically assuming it was the waiter bearing more gifts of alcoholic beverages, she was surprised to see the shadow of Seifer Almasy looming over her, outlined in golden light from chandeliers. She regarded him with a look of disinterest—the last thing she needed right now was an exchange with a student who considered her an amateur, an overly emotional one at that.

"Seifer," she muttered, applying a rubbing hand to her eye. Not a question, or any sort of surprised reaction. "Come to poison the party food? Assassinate the Headmaster, maybe?" But the response this elicited was not the sarcastic grin she was so accustomed to, but a slight tug at the corner of his mouth. Seifer didn't smile like others; when he smiled, he was usually reprimanding you or sarcastically commenting on something you'd previously said, often repeating the speech fragment in question in a tone of derision. When Seifer was genuinely pleased about something, he didn't smile at all; instead, his eyes emitted a twinkle, conveying emotions the too-oft-used grin couldn't ever hope to.

"I hope we're not going to spend the evening exchanging sarcastic wit," Seifer stated in the vain hope that someone might be interested. "I'm only here because they asked me to. Maybe they need a beer sponge or something."

"So what are you doing out here?" Quistis asked tiredly. "If you want to compare testosterone levels with Squall, he's on the next balcony."

"Ah," Seifer announced with a chuckle. "Nope, he's otherwise engaged. He may stay that way for some time…" He let his voice trail off as if to prompt laughter, but the Instructor looked as if she'd just woken on a Monday morning.

"Can I get you a drink? Coffee?"

"No, I'm thinking of something more intoxicating. And I don't mean one of those weak cocktails that are watered down to the extent that chemical analysis needs to be used to detect the presence of alcohol."

"Trust me, go for the coffee. How many sugars? Two? Three? A thousand?"

"Only one."

"One thousand?"

Quistis almost smiled. "No. One, singular." Even the most oblivious onlooker could see Seifer took pride in power, and his summon for the waiter oozed smugness and arrogance.

"Well, I was in a relationship once," Quistis replied, absently tracing he finger around the rim of another empty glass beaded with wine. "His name was Bobo, I was five years old. It was a one-way relationship, really: I talked, he listened. Bears listen to you, you know that? They don't scorn you if you say something stupid, and they don't judge you either." Seifer laughed into the wind, a hoarse bellow of a laugh muffled by the strengthening breeze.

"Yeah, it's no fun not having anyone to talk to," Seifer agreed, glancing across at Quistis. Her hair was being ruffled gently by the cool wind. "I don't even remember anything about my childhood, and I'm not worried about it, either. Well, I remember the fights with Squall, so not much has changed."

"You're telling me?" Quistis sighed, flicking the glass with a nail. The glass rung with the impact, a clean, crisp sound which rang out across the balcony. "So, have _you _ever been in a relationship, Seifer? Hm?"

"What's the criteria for it to be considered a relationship?"

"It has to last longer than ten minutes."

"Damn," Seifer answered, playfully pounding the edge of the balcony with a fist as if to concede defeat. "Well, I guess that's a no of sorts," he announced, gazing over the edge at the vast mass of blue and white that was the Garden. It was silent for a period, a quiet still broken occasionally by the anguished squawk of a seagull riding the thermals overhead. At last, Seifer spoke to break the wind-swept peace. "Yeah, love fucks you up," he said, staring out toward the horizon.

"I'm not assuming what I feel about Squall is love," Quistis affirmed, flicking the glass again. "More of a morbid interest, really. Somehow, he fascinates me, and I almost wish he didn't. You'd have to be an idiot to fall for someone who pays no attention to you at all, but it's not like you can do anything about it, is it?"

"Yeah," Seifer agreed, eagerly selecting the two steaming bone-china mugs from the waiter's tray. He set them down on the balcony. "You know, if I ever fell in love, the result would be somewhere between an issue of Occult Fan and a vodka orange."

"I think you've been spending way too much time in the library," Quistis chuckled. "Those graphic novels change places every week."

"It wasn't me," Seifer said, raising his hands in mock surrender. "I'm illiterate. I just look at the pretty pictures."

"Which reminds me," Quistis said, raising a finger. "You better remind Raijin he still has 'Insect Guidebook: Colour Edition.'"

"He only borrowed it because he was trying to figure out which creature bit him on the ass in the Training Center, ya know?" As sullen as Quistis' mood was, even she managed to raise a smile at the awkward reference.

"See, you've at least got someone to talk to when you unlock the front door tonight. What have I got? A cat who falls asleep in my lap every time I talk to it. Give me Bobo any day."

"I'd rather have a feline than a hyperactive musclehead and a greying woman who replies with shouted one-syllable words whenever you start a conversation with her. They're company, nothing more."

"Loyal company," Quistis insisted, taking a long sip from her coffee. "They've been through hell and high water because they respect you. You're their friend." She set her mug down again. "Oh, and thanks for the drink. For once, you proved me wrong – this is making me feel a hell of a lot better."

"That's okay. It came out of your salary."

"Bastard, taking advantage of my wages. How did you do that, anyway?"

"Don't ask, don't tell. It's one of my personal mantras."

"Any others you'd like to share with me?"

"How about this one: Why do today what you can put off till tomorrow?"

"That's no good!" Quistis exclaimed, driving an imaginary screw into her temple. "Whatever happened to 'carpe diem' and all that? What happens if you die today? You'll never get a chance to do it."

"Nah, I was thinking more of homework assignments and exams," Seifer corrected, draining his mug with a loud slurp. "I live for today, not tomorrow. Hell, it ain't gonna break my heart if I'm not there the next morning. Anyway, if I did it today, what would I have to do the next day? Nothing, exactly. I'd get bored."

"Nice conversation killer," Quistis sighed. "Can't think of anything to say now." The tranquil silence returned for a while, the faint strains of a polka drifting around the Quad coupled with the ringing of toasts and warm chatter. "Need another coffee? Mine's half empty."

"Ah!" Seifer exclaimed, reacting as if he'd been stung by a Bite Bug. "So you're a pessimist, is that it? Always looking for the bad things in life."

"No, no!" Quistis replied. "It was just a figure of speech."

"But you are a cynic, am I right?"

"If we're talking about romance, no. I think the most exciting thing in the world is meeting someone you love, because it changes your outlook on everything. True love is tunnel-vision; you don't ever stop thinking about it. But the problem is when they don't feel the same about you, or they ignore you, or don't see the signs and make you feel like you aren't wanted. It's a heartbreaker."

"Sorry, Instructor, nothing good comes from love," Seifer disagreed. "My theory about marriage is that people do it to stop the other from getting away, so that no-one else can get hold of them. It's selfish, sure, and it's about possessions, but hell, isn't that what the human race is about? Each person for themselves?"

"Now who's the cynic," Quistis replied, with a wry smile. "Anyway, you're wrong. Marriage is about… Well, you know…"

"Ha!" Seifer proudly exclaimed. "I'm right, aren't I? You can't think of a single selfless thing about it! Take Cid and Edea, for example—he only married her for her looks. Well, not the kind he's getting now."

"No, you're wrong!" Quistis argued. "Love is good."

"Bad."

"Fine. We'll continue this argument in five minutes. For now, you can buy me another drink."

"Hey – you're paying, remember?"

Quistis shuddered slightly. "I've had a wonderful evening. But this wasn't it."

------------------------

One person who wasn't in the Quad revelling in shambolic karaoke sessions and drinking enough wine to sink a cargo ship was Balamb's only bare-knuckle fighter, Zell Dincht. He wasn't accompanied by anyone; instead, he sat at a table in the desolate Cafeteria, drumming his fingers on the wood intently and listening to the whistles of ocean breeze through an open window.

Zell felt, in a single word, miserable. Anyone who asked why he was so glum got the same prefabricated excuse—you know, after you kick a sorceress's ass, reading up on the history of Centra doesn't seem all that interesting, does it? Well, to the less discerning listener, they were told this and believed it, as it was a fairly realistic and plausible excuse. But in reality, Zell's problem was far easier to pinpoint. He was lonely. It was like a throwback to the days at the orphanage – he knew all his friends from that time had the same problem, seeing as they all had no parents to love or be loved by, but most of them had learned to live on their own, and make their own friends. He felt sad that his only real friend was a sausage in a bread roll.

He ran his finger along the grain of the wooden table, staring out the landscape windows at the dark, foreboding sky outside, black and blue whirls of cumulus cloud drifting past aimlessly. _Why am I even here? _he wondered sadly, his chin resting in the palm of his free hand. Sure, he had Ma and Pa Dincht, who respected and loved him as their own son, and followed every rung of his climb up the SeeD ladder. But, caring and kind as they were, they weren't his to love.

His train of thought was interrupted by the squeaking of shoes on the polished cafeteria floor, and long strips of white flickered into view. Whoever it was, they'd turned the lights on.

"No-one's home," Zell pronounced, knowing full well the person could see him.

"There are easier ways to remain anonymous," a female voice responded. Selphie.

"You're not the kind that needs to be told when to quit."

"I'm not the type that lets someone tell me to." She made her way over to the table, still wearing Irvine's hat, and pulled one of the black chairs aside. Instead of sitting on it, she perched on the edge and cocked her head to the side to examine Zell's facial expression. He turned his head in the other direction.

"I'm not letting you get out of this that easily," Selphie insisted, and took his arm. "Now, I know you've got something of an infatuation with the cafeteria's hotdogs, but in case you need an eye test, they're all in the Quad. So, I'm figuring you've got a different problem, and I'm not going anywhere till I know what it is."

"Sorry, Selphie." Zell shook his head in despair. "I know you mean well and everything, but I could do with some time with myself."

"That's it," Selphie cut in. "You may have gotten away with forsaking an unwanted hotdog. But I will NOT have you taking a leaf out of Squall's loner book."

"This isn't helping, Selph."

"You're being deliberately difficult."

"You're being a pain in the ass."

Selphie cocked her head even further, ensuring he could not escape her wary gaze. "Look, I'm your friend, aren't I? Come on, Zell, we've gone everywhere together over the last few weeks, so I know you better than anyone."

"Yeah, but that wasn't your choice, was it?"

"I suppose not, but we're like old buddies, aren't we? Just because we didn't choose to go to Timber together, doesn't mean I don't want anything to do with you." Her voice trailed off, echoing in the deserted white confines of the cafeteria. "Hey, I'm not gonna make you talk. It's just… If you need anyone, you know where I am."

"I wish I could say," Zell sighed. "But hell, I'm a fighting man, and we don't get upset about things. We just kick ass and destroy stuff, and save the good-looking women."

"Hey, I'm not gonna tell everyone you're a chicken-wuss, am I? You know me—I wouldn't want to give Seifer the satisfaction."

Zell seemed to digest this well, and he turned to face her. "Thanks, Selph. I suppose you are helping after all."

"I'm the head of the Garden Festival Committee," she said, hauling him to his feet. "Helping's my business. Come on, Cid's going to make his speech in a moment."

"Sure," he said, feigning indifference. "I've been having trouble sleeping lately."

------------------------

This is my first attempt at a romance story, so if it's woefully inaccurate, go easy on me. It doesn't help that I'm about as experienced in the field as a McDonalds worker in a law firm…

I'm not sure if this opening chapter came out the way I wanted it to, but it had plenty of dialogue and introduced each character and their unique contexts. It should become a little more light-hearted as it progresses, but be warned, it may have some of my outlook on romance (I'm something of a bitter, cynical pessimist on the topic, so I suppose the Seifer dialogue was really me talking.)

I was actually inspired to write this because of my monumental writers' block when tackling Final Fantasy: Retaliation; try as I might, I just can't get the seventh chapter right. I think it's because I've lost interest in action stories lately. So I took this on to keep me occupied, and it's working very well for me at the moment—can't tell if it will stay that way. I like having two stories on my plate; when I get bored of one, I can just switch to the other.

Well, I'm done. Laters!


	2. Roads

_**Two: Roads**_

It was long after midnight when Quistis finally returned to her dark-shrouded dormitory, the unmoving black still permeated by the occasional flicker of moonlight through a gap in the clouds. Her dorm was a typically nondescript instructor's room; a single dorm whose only distinguishing feature was the single bed tucked in the far corner and a dresser wedged in the opposite side. Knowing she only had a matter of hours before she had to prepare for classes and registration, she quickly changed into her bed clothes and washed, wanting to preserve time. As she was rearranging her SeeD instructor's uniform in the dresser, she heard the indignant whine of a domestic cat behind her. Turning around in the direction of the sound, she felt a fuzzy head start rubbing her shin, the cat seemingly making up for the attention it had been deprived of earlier with a newly-found rigour.

"I suppose you want me to feed you, right?" she frowned, reaching down and scratching behind the cat's ears. The gesture was greeted with the warm, low rumble of a purr. Quistis considered herself a cat lover primarily because she appreciated them on many different levels—they weren't just the companions that some might suggest, but offered love and devotion beyond a human's. Unlike humans, cats didn't let you down or desert you when you most needed them; they were always willing to do their best to make you feel better, even if that only involved curling up in your lap. Quistis spooned the chunks of jelly-covered cat food into an uninteresting grey ceramic bowl, and the cat's head was already digging into the bowl before she had set it down. Typical cat behaviour, she told herself with an inward smile.

After the lights were switched off and the cat tucked away in its basket in the kitchenette, most likely sleeping off its latest meal, Quistis sat down on the edge of her bed, looking out through the blind. Her obscured view showed only a darkened sea, with the silvery reflection of moonlight flickering darkly on the ripples of sea. Not wanting to mull over matters too long, she threw the quilt aside and slipped into bed – she'd already done far too much thinking for one night, mostly over matters she wasn't likely to resolve any time soon.

As much as she wanted to concentrate on sleep, however, she still found her mind wandering back to the Festival which had just passed. It confused her; someone as egotistical and self-important as Seifer wouldn't usually be known for caring about the feelings of others, in fact, he was infamous for ignoring the feelings of others in favour of indulging in his own pretentious fantasies. Which made it all the stranger that he'd appeared to go out of his way to help her, actually trying to console her and make her feel better. And Seifer was no cat, that was for sure – there was no way _he'd _curl up in your lap to make you feel more reassured. That thought made Quistis smile slightly, at another of her private jokes.

But still—there was Squall. She knew he didn't think of her the same way she thought of him, even if she was trying to banish those fascinations from her mind. That was always the trouble with her; she was too afraid to tell someone what she really thought about them, maybe for fear of rejection or that she'd misread the signs, which seemed an idiotic way to be when she considered how obvious signs were. This, understandably, meant that she kept thinking intently about it to the point of misery, where she figured she'd never be able to do anything about it. She wasn't sure why it upset her, but she knew she had an obsessive personality and with it a tendency to concentrate on one thing for too long.

_Stop thinking, _she informed herself, and squeezed her eyes shut, curling up under the covers to keep warm. Sleep was not only what she needed, but it was a place of solace where her mind was no longer occupied with things it shouldn't be occupied with.

------------------------

Morning came relatively early to the Balamb continent, now that the northern hemisphere was in the humid grip of a lengthy summer heatwave, and the first rays of the sun frequently crept in through an orange sunrise usually reserved for pastel paintings. Obviously, morning often came too early to some members of the Garden; there were the typically sulky students who always piped up with some crap about it being too early or that they didn't sleep too well, but this was usually entirely due to the long, drink-addled nights out that had passed before. What the instructors' excuses were was anyone's guess—it wasn't like they had to pay for their coffee.

For a practicing mercenary like Squall Leonhart, however, sleep was a triviality which so-called "normal" people pretended they needed just so they could seem more human and fit in with the crowd. As a military trained SeeD, you were usually taught the ideal that sleep was a necessity, a battery-recharging period which was needed rather than wanted and one which should be taken whenever one had the chance. He only used it because he felt he had to, like someone was pressuring him into doing it so he would stay sane. He didn't eschew sleep because he thought it made him cool, like other pre-pubescent slackers in the Garden's lower years did, he just didn't sleep so well a lot of the time and felt like he didn't need to the rest of it.

He, like the instructors of the Garden, was bestowed with a spacious single room, fitted with all the luxuries that the Garden consortium wanted to gift to a single person. Funny, that, Squall mused without the smile that many used, as his dormitory was occupied by two people. And this was very much a good thing in his mind.

Watching the golden haze on the horizon, Squall's mind drifted to the time when they first met. That festival, he newly inaugurated into the folds of SeeD, she merely there to seek the company and better mercies of the Headmaster, somehow seemed like a move on fate's chessboard. It was one of life's "What if?" moments which he tried not to mull over too much, as the other scenario involved him not meeting Rinoa and therefore probably being alone in his current situation. Not having to face that truth, he thought, looking out toward the glistening water in the nearby Balamb harbour, was a very good thing indeed.

Trains of thought tend not to last too long, and this one in question ground to a halt when Squall felt a hand touch him gently on the shoulder – not an insistent one, but a gentle gesture of concern. He'd forgotten that Rinoa wasn't bound by nature to the same rules and regulations that he was, and her schedule certainly didn't involve sleep as a distraction. He turned to face her, knowing she would be dragging the bedsheet behind her to cover her modesty, and frowned at the sleep-fogged look which she wore on regarding him.

"You know, you don't have to rise before the sun does anymore," she said, furiously racking her brows to bring herself back to reality. Squall took her free hand, which she was using to rub her eyes.

"I am a member of SeeD, remember?" he replied. "You know, just because Ultimecia's out of the frame, doesn't mean I'm not a member. We haven't accomplished _everything _we set out to do; there's the small matter of the war between Galbadia and the other nations."

"Yeah, that's like Zell stealing ice cream from the cafeteria in comparison." She seemed slightly indignant. "Like, we're together now, aren't we?"

"I'm assuming "together" means a romantic pairing."

"So that means you don't have to spend all day practicing your "I don't need anyone" routine. You don't have to devote your life to working, or your own livelihood."

"Everyone thinks about themselves, Rinoa," Squall reprimanded, looking out over the sea. "Just because I didn't have any friends when I was younger, and I do now, it doesn't mean I can just stop thinking of my own welfare."

"I thought the idea of love was that you care more about the other person than yourself?"

"True," Squall conceded. "But if you aren't here, I can't worry about what you're doing. If I'm on a mission, and some guy is about to separate my head from my body, I do need to think about my own problems."

A gloomy silence settled over the dorm, permeated occasionally by the calls of a passing seagull drifting along the thermals. "Come on," Rinoa said, almost ready to drag Squall away by the hand. "There's still a couple of hours left until first class. You're not in Timber yet."

"Believe me, if I didn't have to do this mission, I—"

"Would? Squall, I know you better than you'd like to admit. And I know you'd taken this mission before they'd actually finished the briefing, because that's a Squallism." That was how she'd tagged his behavioural tendencies. "When you go off into a fantasy world, that's a Squallism. When you tell someone to go talk to a wall, because you don't need their problems, that's a Squallism. When you—"

"Okay, that's enough," Squall relented, following her obediently into the room. "It's kinda like a joke that's been done too many times."

"It is a joke that's been done too many times," she agreed. "Seems like it's the only way I get through to you – you know, when I annoy you."

It had taken him three dances the previous night to reveal that he was being despatched to Timber the following morning, for reasons she wasn't allowed to know (obviously, the classic excuse – "you're on a need to know basis, and you don't need to know.") Rinoa found all the privacy and secrets overbearing – she was soon to be a member of SeeD herself, so why wasn't she allowed to know what her boyfriend was doing? It wasn't like she was an informant from an opposing government or anything, so what was the problem? Didn't they trust her?

Squall, meanwhile, assumed his frames of mind were easy to decode. He'd spent most of his childhood years fending for himself, and he knew how to carry out all the elementary tasks every human needed, whether it was cleaning, learning or cooking (even if the latter involved throwing something in the oven, and standing well back with fingers crossed.) It wasn't like he could just change immediately for someone else's sake – he'd vowed before that he would never change, not for anyone, so even though he appreciated the differences inherent in his and Rinoa's characters, he couldn't just re-adapt. He was an independent person, and in being proud of his uniqueness, he wanted to stay the person he'd cultivated over the years he'd spent in B-Garden. Difficult times, he knew, were just around the corner.

------------------------

_Hey! They gave me my old room back!_

Seifer took pleasure in the most trivial of pursuits and endowments, so having his dorm back on a temporary basis was a highlight in an otherwise dull week he was going to endure. Seifer was far removed from those who wallowed in self-pity, and he often avoided such tendencies as much as possible, placing an emphasis on the good things in his life. It was emphatically his style to appreciate the good things in every element of life; not only that, but to point these things out to others who had pessimistic and downbeat outlooks.

His dorm was nestled in a far corner of the east wing of Balamb Garden, a corridor lined with sections of skylight to make the aspect of the dormitory section lighter and more open. Whether that had something to do with positive outlooks and optimism certainly wasn't something Seifer knew, seeing as he'd had nothing to do with its construction. His dorm was the one in the far corner, EB-101, which was one of the smaller rooms in the wing but suited Seifer just fine. Hell, he had enough room for a bed, dresser, extra-curricular material—what else did he need?

"AWAKE, ALREADY?" a voice demanded from down the hallway. Fujin, a SeeD student who you'd have been forgiven for thinking had discovered the gift of eternal middle-age, strode intently down the corridor, evidently visiting the Garden to see her companion and knowing where he could be found. Fujin always seemed as if she belonged in a child-soldier camp, mostly due to all her monosyllabic grunting and unrelenting bravery, but also in minuscule detail in her walking and movements. Somehow, it all seemed cultured and precise, and it was easier to assume this from looking than to put it into words.

"Hey, I'm always awake," Seifer replied, throwing his arms out wide with a grin. It was hard to determine whether this particular grin was honest or sarcastic, or a little of both. "You know, you should leave that frown in the restroom. Makes you look old." Question answered; it was the latter of the two characteristics.

"FLATTERED," Fujin said, and without the trademark smile one would have expected to accompany that it was hard to tell if her tongue was planted in her cheek. "GRANDFATHER." It seemed it was everyone's duty to give their friends a nudge and a knowing wink; maybe as the old people said, the sun had got to their heads.

"You know how to make a guy feel wanted," Seifer laughed appreciatively. "Come on, I'm so hungry I could eat ya. Or maybe your brother, 'cause he's got more meat to offer. " He snaked an arm round her shoulders, although this did very little to ease Fujin's militaristic tension – not that that was the intention, of course.

"CAFETERIA?"

"You know where it's at."

"ZELL," she announced, punching the button to call the elevator. "HOTDOGS, GONE. PUNISH."

"You got it," Seifer replied, driving a fist into the air as they stepped into the glass cylinder. "You know, if I'm gonna be staying here for a few days I think we oughta get the Disciplinary Committee back in action. Whaddaya say?" The response it elicited? Certainly what he wanted, even if he wasn't expecting such a comic trifling to be taken into consideration.

"AFFIRMATIVE."

Seifer found himself frowning in amusement as the second floor hallway began rising upward out of sight. Somehow, although he'd never in his life thought to take another person's advice into consideration, what Quistis had said over the beverages he'd managed to acquire at no cost to his personal finance was not only astute, but an accurate observation. He'd always thought of himself as a figure to be appreciated, seeing as his fantasising often involved him fitting into roles which demanded respect, but somehow he'd managed to incur this from people he hadn't trodden on on his way to glory.

Fujin and Raijin looked up to Seifer, perhaps more as a partner in crime than a family relative, and they not only appreciated him as a wildly enthusiastic personality but would do anything to remain in his company. As someone might have mentioned in passing, they were so loyal, they'd follow their leader into the gates of hell – and if the incidents in Lunatic Pandora were anything to vouch on, they probably had already proved that.

------------------------

There was no topic of discussion on the matter—it truly was a beautiful day in Balamb Garden, the kind of beautiful which is enviously mentioned by students in the depths of winter when considering Galbadia's warm climate and temperate weather conditions. The kind of beautiful which, when wandering around in short-sleeved T-shirts or sitting on the benches eating snacks and lunch, somehow made the daily routine of work and training almost enjoyable. The kind of beautiful which everyone appreciates, even those who prefer it when it's a dark night coloured with black clouds and deluges of rain.

Such pleasure in the dazzlingly blue summer sky was shared by most students, with the notable exceptions sulking in corners or dormitories cultivating their hatred. Zell almost considered himself an exception from this category, seeing as he preferred to spend his time engaging in strenuous physical activity, but at times he too needed his privacy. There were some times he didn't want to share his entire life with other people, and he was currently stuck in the tunnel of one with no discernible way out.

He crouched down beside the red-wood bookcase, the stack of hardcover spines seeming to leer down on him like an immense skyscraper. If he had to be honest, and bear his soul to someone, his soul-purging would certainly involve the strange emotions he was feeling at the time of speaking—mostly, how un-Zell-like they were. Why he didn't want to share his misery with anyone was probably the thing bothering him the most—like others who shared facets of his personality, he preferred to divulge his troubles to an understanding second party. This was currently not the case.

"Um… Zell… Are you going to choose a book now? I have to go through library rules with a class for first period." Zell frowned and closed his eyes. Mina, the library girl with the pigtail, had been hovering behind him intermittently, often asking him if he'd enjoyed the last Ruby Dragon comic he'd read or asking what he knew of the next issue of Silver Bullet. He wasn't sure if she liked them, even, but at least she was showing interest.

_Jeez, it's HER! What do I say…C'mon, man, think of something interesting. _There it was, he'd unwittingly uncovered part of his worries—he had someone, not something, on his mind. It was one worry among many.

"Yeah… sorry." He immediately frowned again—for a first line, it wasn't very remarkable. He wasn't sure she was impressed, but considering he couldn't even see her, he'd have to go by her voice.

"That's okay," she responded, seemingly unfazed by his clumsily delivered line. If this was Fate's idea of a screenplay or a novel, the writer obviously wasn't going to win any awards for their work.

"Like… how long is it until next period? I've kind of lost track of time."

"Oh, about ten seconds or so."

"Crap." As he leapt up from his haunches, he felt an impact on the back of his head, accompanied by a throbbing ache. Unlike his adoptive mother, Zell didn't have eyes in the back of his head, and so hadn't seen Mina leaning over him to see the book he had taken from the lower shelf.

"Oh man, I'm sorry!" he protested, his hand instantly losing interest in the pulp magazine it was holding and dropping it to the floor. "I never look where I'm going. Story of my life."

"No, I'm sorry," she said. "Should have waited for you to get up first." For the next few seconds, there was something of an awkward silence.

"We can stay here and apologise until the chocobos come home, but… it's not good conversation, is it?" Both chuckled quietly, doing little to hide the tension between them. Quite why there was friction between the two in conversation was something neither knew, but it was clearly an example of hidden feelings that neither wanted to admit to.

"I suppose I should go," Zell began, unsure what the next words out of his mouth would be. "I've… got to do some training in the centre. Maybe I should stop spending my time here reading."

"Hey, reading's good for you. That's what the teachers always tell you." Zell smiled warmly at that, as the material he was indulging in was far from educational—his hidden shame involving badly drawn, wide-eyed caricatures clashing in ever more preposterous circumstances.

"Well, I gotta shoot," he said, as he heard the bustling of younger-year students through the corridor, laughing and chattering in excited squeals and giggles. Immediately, both Zell and Mina had the same idea—to kneel down and retrieve the cast-aside graphic novel, splayed on the floor with pages crumpled and spread out on the green carpet. Their heads connected with a barely audible thud which neither heard but both definitely felt.

"Damn man, not again!" Zell protested, burying his head in both his hands. Now he felt stupid and embarrassed—he'd really cocked this opportunity up, without actually saying that much. He was sure he appeared stupid every time he opened his mouth in the company of a girl, but now he'd managed to achieve that distinction without saying something particularly stupid or unflattering. _That's gotta be a world first, _he thought while nursing his head.

"I'd better go," Mina broke in, rubbing her forehead. "The period'll end before I get round to teaching. By the way, what did you think of Combat King April?"

"I dunno," Zell replied, shrugging. "I don't think I read through it that much." It seemed to an observer that neither seemed to care about the other's lack of composure, but both were bothered about their own.

"What about Silver Bullet: Issue Zero? I reserved that one especially for you—I knew you liked it."

"Ah," Zell said, laughing almost uneasily. "That's a different story." And to the surprise of neither, the uncomfortable silence resumed, where neither could think of anything intellectual or even humorous to say. They had chosen the wrong time to break their conversation, too; by now practically the entire waiting class was hanging on their every word, ready in the wings to create unsubstantiated rumours about Library Girl's new friend.

They looked at each other for a few more seconds, then both laughed quietly at a joke the other students seemed to be debating about.

"Well… Bye," Mina ended almost apprehensively, and with a slight flick of the wrist which seemed to be a wave, she disappeared into the crowd of students, ushering them toward the front desk. Zell, now alone again with his thoughts, found himself pacing slowly past the front desk, staring intently at the green carpet below him. _What was all that?_

Although he wasn't much of a romantic, he often formulated smart lines and jokes in case he ever found himself talking to a member of the opposite sex who he felt an attraction to. But without the possibility of creating a handbook, his unreliable memory let him down when he most needed it, ensuring he forgot anything immediately memorable when he wanted to use it. Still, at least his thoughts were becoming a little more positive.

------------------------

Whoever had designed the classrooms in Balamb Garden clearly didn't have a fondness for minimalism. The fact that the Garden was a conversion of a disused Centra shelter aside, the rooms were enormous areas of hardwood sparsely decorated with a few study panels and a large electronic projector at the front of the class. It seemed to be a spin on the dojos often seen in ninja castles, but this was just an assumption based on visual appearance.

Seifer, like many of the misbehaving children in a class usually do, sat near the back of the classroom, his spacious study area's double seat occupied by himself and his thick black boots. With the disciplinary committee's other two members on the rollcall of another instructor's register, Seifer wasn't interested in making concessions to coax the favour of his colleagues, and was perfectly happy to put his feet up, in the most literal sense possible.

But as for his teacher, dear old Instructor Trepe; well, she seemed as if she was thinking of something else on this particular morning. He had tried to make her think less about her issues, but as she seemed intent on drifting off into her own fantasy world, Squall-style, it seemed like a mission failed. Not that he cared or anything—to be brutally honest, although he made an attempt, he really wasn't that interested. Her life, her problems, he thought as he poked the power button for his mounted computer.

"Seifer Almasy." In some ways, it felt uncomfortable that Cid had decided to place him back on the register for the time being, but given Seifer's own proclivities in the past, he could understand why he wasn't to be trusted. Even so, Quistis' mention of his name felt slightly out-of-place.

"Yes, _Instructor,_" Seifer responded without moving his gaze.

"Would you do me the honour of staying behind after registration? I have a few things I'd like to discuss with you."

"Oh, certainly," Seifer replied with more than a hint of satirical mockery in his voice. "So long as you keep those Trepies of yours on leads." Around the class, murmurs of dissent sounded between students. Not to worry; as he wasn't staying long, writing himself into other students' bad books wasn't going to be something for the short-lived New Disciplinary Committee to take into account.

The rest of the five-minute period passed with little clamour, as the other students called out impassively as their names were read out, seemingly waiting to get outside in the thick heat of the summer. In fact, they were so preoccupied by the preparations they'd made for the gaps between lessons and training that they were practically queuing up by the door before the bell had even rung. By the time it did, however, Seifer was hauling himself up from his almost recumbent position, wondering why Quistis would have anything to say to a part-timer like himself.

"So, Instructor Trepe," Seifer began. "What can you do for me?"

"I'm not really sure how to say this," she began, "but… Thank you."

Seifer, for all his mock bravado, suddenly found himself short on words. "You mean… for the Festival last night?"

"Yeah. You know, even though it probably seemed like nothing to you, that's what I needed someone to tell me." Seifer seemed as if he was shifting around to get out of his current situation—Quistis had almost expected him to throw his head back and laugh, but here he was, a lost little boy with nothing to say.

"Also…" Quistis said, her voice trailing off as she turned her watchful eye to the register in her hand, "…Cid would like to speak to you about some important matters. Involving SeeD, you know."

"Got it," Seifer said, stock still.

"And one last thing," Quistis continued, reaching for a ring binder on her cluttered desk. "I'm heading off. I have an assignment, so I'm going to be gone for the next few days. Just thought you'd like to know." And with that, Quistis strode out of the classroom, leaving Seifer, who was still rooted to the spot, alone with his confusion. The only sound which echoed off the whitewashed walls was the throb of the electric door closing.

------------------------

The cafeteria. The previous night, it had been a dimly-lit hiding place where one phlegmatic student had chosen to hide his woes, cradled by the wash of the ocean outside. Now, though, it had returned to the bustling hive of activity it always was, a blanket of chatter resounding around the room.

And the very person who found himself occupying that unenviable role was present, sitting in almost the same position as he had been the previous night, though not distant in a world of his own creation. Instead, his mind was preoccupied with a more humanistic need—the need to feed. Hotdogs were the word – more than just a buzzword, an almost legendary name which was spoken in hushed, awed tones.

The cafeteria lady's hotdogs had built up an incredible head of steam over the past few months, due in part to the frenzied exchanges between students in Garden Square, but Zell considered them to be almost a religious experience. He had a feeling that maybe he was only making a big deal out of them because there was little excitement in his life, as, you know, you have to latch onto something.

But today was not just another day, but a different one. Zell almost found his sudden disinterest in the hotdogs disturbing, but then again, so were his moods and sudden tenacities. But here he was, watching Irvine tearing chunks out of one without any sign of jealousy. Irvine paused in mid-bite, instantly noticing Zell's lack of contact with the real world, and lowered his breakfast.

"C'mon man," Irvine said, affectionately punching him in the shoulder. "So many hotdogs, so little time. If you don't get one, I might have to eat 'em all myself, and you wouldn't want that, would ya?"

"Don't worry about me, man," Zell said, clasping both hands round the back of his head. "I'm not that hungry. Help yourself."

Irvine appeared almost shocked. "I think I forgot my hearing aid this morning. Did you just say you _don't _want a hot dog?"

Zell's response was almost aggravated. "Look, hotdogs aren't my life, you know. I do have other things on my mind too."

Irvine cocked an eyebrow. "So you're human after all. What you thinking about?"

"Don't really want to say. It's kinda personal."

"C'mon, try me." Irvine had devoured the previous hotdog in between speaking, and was now fully focused on the brawler sitting across the table. "If it's any consolation, I won't go talking about it to anyone."

"Well… there's this girl."

"Ah!" Irvine leapt up as if he'd been stung. "Yeah, now we're in my line of thinking. Been there, done that, got the T-shirt."

"I don't think you know her," Zell said. "You might have gone out with every girl in Garden – _once –_ but this one's a little different. She probably wouldn't give in to you so easily."

"Mina," Irvine said, taking a mouthful from a bottle of mineral water.

"Damn, was it that obvious?"

"Pretty much," Irvine replied, fiddling with the cap on the bottle. "Like, ever since I first came here you've been giving her the eye. Selphie's getting quite annoyed about it, actually, 'cause she thinks you're never going to say anything."

"Yeah?" Zell seemed genuinely surprised.

"Look, it's like this." Irvine spread both his hands out on the table, as if he was playing cards. "A woman is like a violin. You have to learn how it works before you can use it."

"You can't play a violin."

"It's an analogy," Irvine replied, shrugging. "Like, once you know how to play their game, you'll be able to do it with any girl you like. Trust me, I've been there."

"Right…" Somehow, even if Irvine thought himself a ladies' man, this advice didn't seem particularly useful, seeing as Mina didn't have strings and he didn't have a bow to play them.

"Look, it's the classic I'm-there-if-you-need-me line now. You ever want to know about women, you come to me." He started spinning the bottle around. "Just remember, men and women are from different planets. Even if you think you know where you're going, you sometimes can't see the path for the trees. So just be careful, right?"

"Yeah," Zell nodded. "Well… see you around." As he was walking past the Disciplinary Committee, he thought to himself. _Even though I've just talked to the guy who seems to know everything about women, I don't feel any the wiser._ He figured he should head back to the library, but doing that needed courage, courage he didn't have right now. _Maybe I'll stop off at the Quad first, _he thought.

------------------------

Squall stood ramrod-straight in Cid's office, marching rhythms rolling around inside his head as he saluted the Headmaster. Though the morning was only a few hours old, he felt as if he hadn't slept since the morning before that. Maybe his martial training scheme was taking a toll on him after all.

"At ease, Squall," Cid said as he looked up from the prints he was holding. Squall immediately relaxed; since Cid treated him more as a family member than a mercenary, and addressing him by name seemed more appropriate than by rank or last name.

"So, back on a mission the night after we finish celebrating the last one. You up for this?"

"Of course, sir," Squall replied, nodding slightly. "SeeD is my life for the next few years. I'll do anything I can to make this all run smoothly."

"Excellent," Cid responded, nodding back. "I don't hear that often from my students, and when I do, it's more like, 'Yeah, I'll do anything for SeeD, whatever…'"

Squall didn't smile, and Cid didn't expect him to. "Well, I suppose I should stop clowning around and give you your briefing." Squall immediately noticed that the overhead projector wasn't being used; this probably negated any possibility of the mission being a search-and-destroy.

"Now as you know, with Edea unwilling to lead the Galbadian nations, they are about to enter the process of appointing a new leader. How long this will take we don't know, but we do know that General Caraway has been appointed as the stand-in leader of the country."

"Rinoa's father," Squall said almost as an instinctive response.

"He's not going to take the post permanently, in case you were wondering," Cid continued. "He hasn't got the credentials, and he's military anyway. I guess they're looking for someone with more experience. Anyway, as I mentioned lat time, we'd like you to go to Timber."

"What's the idea?" Squall wasn't fitting the pieces of the jigsaw together.

"General Caraway has stated that he will turn over control of the city to the mayor there. He's relinquishing Galbadia's control of the city. But there's one condition."

Squall could see it coming. "No more SeeD, right?"

"Very good," Cid said, with a nod. "Yes, he's asking us to sever our ties with the city and its resistance factions. If the city's going to be in the people's hands, chances are they won't need our assistance anyway, but I guess he just wants to be sure."

"So you want me to oversee the signing of the peace treaty," Squall said, as the puzzle began falling into place without his mind's help.

"Not just that," Cid continued. "We need you to accompany our ambassador, so that she can sign the treaty herself. We're expecting minimal resistance, but we like to err on the safe side of caution, as you already know."

"Who's our ambassador?" Squall's question was answered when the double doors of Cid's office swung open, sweeping aside to make room for the entrant – Quistis. As her eyes met with Squall's, the final part of the puzzle was slotted in. Somehow, their superiors had thought it better that they weren't told of the other's presence on the mission.

"She's the ambassador?" Squall inquired quizzically. Although he was talking to Cid, the question was addressed to Quistis.

"Of course," Cid replied. "She's my highest-ranking Instructor now, and therefore my liaison with other countries. Looks like you two will be with each other for a little longer."

"Yes, we will, won't we?" Quistis mused, her eyes not moving.

------------------------

The preparations for the mission had already been made, a convenience which meant that Squall and Quistis could depart immediately. And so it was that they found themselves heading through the vast main hall, alive with the sounds of footsteps, conversation and running water, heading through the main gate in what seemed like a re-run of the Fire Cavern training assignment many weeks ago.

"You ready for this?" Squall asked, seeming to resign himself to conversation.

"As Zell would say, 'I'm psyched up, baby!'" Quistis chuckled at her impression, and even Squall managed a hint of a smile.

"Wait!" The shout echoed through the main hall, and like almost everyone did when they heard a sudden noise, Squall and Quistis both stopped and turned to face the commotion. It was Rinoa, bounding down the stairs, hair flying in all directions, seemingly desperate to stop Squall from taking off so quickly.

When she reached him, she practically leapt into his arms. "You okay?" Squall asked, brushing a strand of her hair aside. Quistis, the familiar feeling beginning to arise in her gut, thought it a good time to make her exit, and slowly began a pace to the front gate.

"Did you think you were going to leave without saying goodbye?" Normally, Rinoa would have said this with a grin plastered across her face, but this time it seemed as if she was actually reprimanding him.

"…No. Of course not," Squall assured her. Before she said anything, she pressed her lips against his, in an almost forced show of emotion. It seemed to him as if she was doing this to assure everyone watching that there were no conflicts between them. She held them there for as long as humanly possible, before pulling away, slightly breathless.

"What was—"

"See you around," Rinoa cut in, and as quickly as she had arrived, she ran off toward the elevator. Squall, lost in his bafflement, noticed that everyone who was watching had begun to divert their attention, and he arched his brow in confusion. _What was that?_

Quistis didn't slow her pace down, even when she saw Squall stride up beside her. "So," she said tartly, "what was that all about?"

"It's none of your—"

"Business." Quistis' chuckle now became a full laugh, rocking back and forth with genuine amusement. "You know, even as Garden Commander, you haven't changed a bit."

------------------------

Oy. Done at last. Bit longer than I was expecting, but never mind. You're not complaining, are you?

I'm thinking there's a little too much introspection in this at the moment, so from the next chapter, expect this to be more dialogue-driven. I think you probably know enough about the characters now, so no more long paragraphs.

And… yeah. That be all from me. As usual, if you want to tell me anything, just click the button, or you can email me if you want to be more personal. Till next time…


	3. Human Nature

First of all, I'd like to apologise for the inhuman amount of time you've had to wait for this chapter. It feels nice that there are people who actually want to read this, but I feel a little guilty about making you hang on for so long to get it. Anyway, I move on to the chapter, and although I'd like to say it's worth the wait, I think that's up to you to decide, isn't it?

_**Three: Human Nature**_

It is a universally acknowledged truth that, with regards to the strange psychological theories developed to help us better understand human nature, there are some instinctual penchants that almost no qualified professional can explain. How can we, as mortals, explain elements of our construction which seem to be desinged to thwart any attempt to decode them? Mostly, this is used to dismiss any notions about mental illnesses, afflictions we are not meant to understand but simply to bear, but it also outlines habitual inclinations we develop without knowing or intending to do so.

Squall, for want of a better description, never felt as if he wanted other people to understand him, even if it was a selfish ideal brought on by years of social rejection. But primarily, he shied away from the extrovertion his absent parents might have told him to conform to. He wasn't obsessed with self-importance, but instead felt as if, without a father figure or caring household to call his own, he had to fend for himself in an unwelcoming childhood.

Whether being a human facilitated the need for an obsession was something he'd never determined, but at times he almost wished his proclivities could be materialistic. The gentle pulse of the moving train rumbling beneath him as he gazed out the window at the rolling Galbadian plains conjured a mental image of Selphie, bouncing around as if without a care or adversity in the world.

He felt a presence next to him, and knew who it was without needing to turn his head. He didn't even need to cast a glance to the person in the adjoining space to know that they had their chin placed into a hand, propping them up as they stared blankly at the dusty canyons in a stance almost identical to his – which was entirely the intention, of course.

"Am I interrupting anything?" Quistis asked.

"Only my train of thought," Squall replied, immediately turning his back on the walls of rock and sand moving past outside.

"Nice pun," Quistis smiled slightly, aware of the difference between comedy and humour.

Squall regarded her with an uncharacteristically comical raise of an eyebrow. "Thanks... I'll pretend it was intentional." Not wanting to further the conversation, he strode over to the ticket machine and withdrew a receipt.

"I know you've probably heard this countless times before, and the chances of you wanting to hear it again are similar to those of Vinzer Deling being re-elected, but what's on your mind?" _Ask the same question over and over, and the answer won't be any different._

"Noth—"

"It isn't nothing," Quistis admonished, waving her hand to cut him off. "You have a face that's usually reserved for melting ice."

"I can't put it into words," Squall excused himself, leaning against the frame of the door.

"Try it." There was an insistent tone in her voice which seemed too resolute to belong to an instructor. Immediately, Squall's mind leapt back to their reminiscing in Trabia Garden. What was her point? To fill the void left by Ellone's departure, to take on the role of an older sister and the responsibilities it entailed. It was almost ironic, really, as the apathy Squall harboured toward most people, including Quistis, seemed almost appropriate for a younger, disinterested brother.

"Everyone has their own problems," Squall said. "Why does everyone want to help me? I can manage on my own."

"Squall, that sounds alarmingly like the old you," Quistis frowned. "I was never the best Science student, but one thing stuck with me even through years of intense boredom – solids can melt and become liquid, but they can also re-solidify. Somehow, Squall, you're just like that."

Quistis knew the response before Squall had even registered what she'd said, as it was an automated instinct reserved for many situations. "Whatever."

"Whatever," Quistis echoed. "You know what I used to do when I had something on my mind? I'd write it down somewhere. Sure, it made my diary like shaving with a blunt razor, but as I was the only one who read it, what did it matter? It was my way of getting things out of my system."

"It's not that simple," Squall dismissed her. "Can anyone write down what food tastes like? Or the shot of adrenaline that courses through your veins when running from trouble? Some things can't be put into writing."

Quistis would have picked up on the pretentious emotive language in Squall's reply if it hadn't incensed her so much. "Oh come on, Squall! You're seventeen, not seventy. Why don't you try and enjoy life for a change?"

"If life doesn't give you anything to enjoy, what's the point in changing?" With that, Quistis conceded defeat, knowing that her battle of wits with Squall was one she had not prepared strategies for, and resigned herself to gazing out the window in a stance which uncannily echoed Squall's.

Finally, after half a minute of shifting and uncomfortable silence, Squall spoke. "That was a nice analogy, by the way."

Quistis flashed a wry smile. "Thanks. I'll pretend it was intentional."

------------------------

Some places had a tendency to instil everyone who visited it with the same thoughts. It was considered almost customary that a beach town would submerge vistors in waves of charming nostalgia, and reduce those who had not seen such a place since their childhood into grinning, wide-eyed reminsicence of the times that were long past. One thing was for sure; Balamb had every characteristic associated with such a conventional location, and wasn't afraid to revel in it.

It seemed strange to Zell, though, as this was essentially his hometown and yet, despite his frequent visits, almost seemed inappropriate for permanent habitation. It wasn't that Balamb didn't have residents or permanent citizens; the town was renowned for its temperate people as much as its warm climate and frequent visitors from abroad, and the presence of Balamb Garden gave the town a warm, school-day feel to the area which was guaranteed to inspire some unsubstantiated nonsense from veterans about school days being the best of a person's life.

For all the residents it had, Balamb seemed to be constructed purely with foreign visitors in mind. The few houses in the town were merged in low-slung terraces, emphasising the reliance of the townspeople on each other in such a close-knit community. The town square consisted mostly of some strategically-placed gift shops clustered together, separated by the occasional restaurant, and a road which split into paths like a fork. The town's only real means of transport was the transcontinental railroad which ran to Timber through an undersea tunnel, and thus provided the tourism so fundamental to the town's continuing success.

Zell's mother was already waiting for him outside his house, seemingly eager for company after days devoid of any real purpose. "Hi ma!" he called out from a distance, a shadow against the white glare and the strikingly blue road.

"Zell!" she called out in response, making it seem to an oblivious onlooker that she was surprised to see him when, in fact, she had sent the invitation. "How's my rowdy boy doing?"

"I'm doin' good!" Zell replied, hopping around from one red skate-shoe to the other. "I'm like sunshine in a bottle." Which was strange, considering his recent influx of personal troubles. Ma Dincht gestured for him to enter the house, and as he did so, he was greeted with the cool breeze of air-conditioning.

"You know, everyone in the town thought you'd come back in pieces after that scuffle you had with Galbadia." Ma Dincht was visibly relieved to see him alive, he could tell. "Did you get hurt?"

"I kicked ass, Ma!" Immediately spotting the look of reproachment on her face, he dropped down into a worn lounge chair. "I was like, beating everyone to a pulp!" Ma Dincht reappeared from the kitchen carrying a can of soda, which Zell eagerly snatched from her and gulped without reservation.

"I'm proud of you, Zell." She gazed at his irrepressible grin. "You know, all the other townspeople thought you'd give up easily."

Zell tipped his head backward and poured the beverage down his throat. "Heh... They don't know me that well, obviously."

"Like the field exam, when everyone thought you'd fail spectacularly."

"Yeah! And I got into SeeD, no problem. What's with everyone? They all think I'm unhinged."

Ma Dincht chuckled slightly. "It's because you're wild. I think they all assume you're going to be reckless when you're on a mission."

"Well, that's not _so _far from the truth!" They both laughed together, Ma Dincht seeming almost animate with humour.

"I heard about the Sorceress... Edea, wasn't it?" Ma Dincht adopted a puzzled expression. "Somehow, that name seems familiar."

Zell looked put out. "Ma, we figured it out. Squall, Quistis, me and the rest. She was our Matron."

"Matron..." Ma Dincht's look was now one of bewilderment, and she departed in to the clouds of steam rising in the kitchen.

"You don't need to pretend any more. I know about the orphanage."

That was the killing line. Ma Dincht, who had seemingly assumed that Zell would never unravel the puzzle of his upbringing until told about it, was now faced with exactly that. "Zell, I'm sorry..."

"When were you gonna tell me, Ma?" Zell asked, seeming more pained than offended. It isn't easy to face up to the truth when said truth involves accepting that your beloved parents officially have nothing to do with you.

"We..." It seemed that this scenario had never crossed Ma Dincht's mind.

"Look, Ma, I'm not mad at you," Zell said, standing up. "It's just that you can't keep secrets forever, you know? I mean, I'm nearly eighteen. You had to tell me sometime."

"Zell, dear," she began in a reassuring tone, "sometimes it isn't easy to face up to your responsibilities, even when you're an adult. It's not as easy as just saying what's on your mind sometimes."

"C'mon, Ma, don't go all philosophical on me," Zell cut in. "I mean, I have a right to know, don't I?"

"Of course you do!" She laid a hand on his shoulder. "But sometimes what you don't know can't hurt you. And we thought that's the way it should stay for now."

"Yeah, I suppose..." Zell's voice trailed off in a futile attempt to find reason.

"We just want what's best for you, Zell," she concluded, moving away from Zell, now immersed in his own musings. "Don't forget; we're old, and we've been there before. I know I wouldn't have wanted my parents to come out with 'Sorry, we aren't your real parents – didn't you guess?' So Pa and I decided this was the best way to leave it, what with you in SeeD now. Obviously, I'm sorry you had to find out like this..." Now it was her turn to trail off into silence, letting her words hang in the air.

"You know, Ma," Zell said, hurling himself up from his seat, "I guess you were right. I see why you did it, but sometimes it's not so easy to accept things."

"Zell, dear," she replied, turning a plate in her tea-towel-wrapped hand, "that's part of everyone's lives. Things might not work out exactly the way you want them to, but it's always for the best. And you'll realise that eventually."

"Hey, I'm a religious motherfucker," Zell grinned, then averted his gaze as it met Ma Dincht's less-than-approving one. "That means: I know they teach you all this stuff in Garden, but I probably wasn't listening at the time."

"You know," she laughed, inserting the plate into a free slot on the washing-board, "I'm beginning to see why the others think you'll have trouble as a SeeD."

------------------------

As Squall concluded his speech, he self-consciously re-adjusted his tie, as if to enhance Garden's growing reputation as a dominant world power. "Therefore, I propose a peace agreement between our nations, beginning with the withdrawal of all troops from the Trabian sector, and with our contribution being the severing of all ties with resistance factions in Timber." He felt a twinge of discomfort at that, knowing that Rinoa could be watching the proceedings.

Murmurs of assent sounded from the throng of Galbadian politicians situated just in front of the podium where Squall was now standing ramrod-straight, awaiting some sort of response. A period of long, uneasy chatter followed, as the counsel engaged in discussion relating to the affair. After a period of time that was almost too long for Quistis to endure without lapsing into sleep, Hibrom Caraway, newly elected president of Galbadia, took the opportunity to stand. The fact that none of the foreign attendants chose to do the same spoke volumes about their ideologies – indifferent, and usually pretty useless.

"After much consideration, we have decided..." He paused for a moment or two, building the tension like an over-exploited television format, "...this treaty is beneficial to our country. Hence, we have decreed that we will agree the constitution, and put an end to this pointless conflict."

Visible relief, held in baited breath by the other attendants, was expelled in waves of applause. After nearly a year of pointless bickering, hollow disputes and needless conflict fuelled by Galbadia's power-hungry dictator, it was finally coming to an end. It appeared to be what all the involved nations wanted—obviously, no civilians wanted endless fighting, but there were some, like those pacifist inhabitants of Fisherman's Horizon, who wanted nothing more than quiet. This would, given the time required to implement everything, hopefully lead to a more secure existence for both them and the more hot-tempered individuals.

When Squall emerged from the clamouring foreign representatives, Quistis greeted him with a smile. "That was excellent. Really. Cid would be proud if he were here."

Squall almost seemed pleased at the compliment. "Thanks. I thought it went well." It wasn't as if she was exaggerating either – he'd done a very professional job of the assignment, the kind that reminded unacquainted Garden graduates why he'd ascended to such a high level in the ranking order.

"So, you think that's going to end this Sorceress War?" Squall shook his head concurrently.

"No. Galbadia are too hot-headed, and I think they'll still give us some trouble. Don't forget, even if we can make it easier to cope with, there's always conflict."

"Oh, Squall. You're too fatalistic."

"Admit it, Quistis," he said as he held the door aside for her to pass through, "you agree with me."

Her wary gaze told him all he needed to know. "Okay, I admit it. That Caraway... I'm not so sure about him, especially after all that happened with Rinoa."

"Tell me about it," Squall muttered, as they ducked into the bullet-proof Garden car waiting outside. They situated themselves in the long, grey seats, strapped in with four-point safety belts.

"Well, I guess there's no time to buy any souvenirs, huh?" Quistis placed a hand over her mouth to stifle the beguiled laughter. "I can just imagine you looking for something for Rinoa. You'd probably buy her pepper spray, or a pocket knife."

"No..." He appeared indignant, as if Quistis' suggestion that he made boyfriends look too serious and passionless was silly. "I don't just think about worst-case scenarios, you know. We have a life."

"Okay, no more detail needed," Quistis cut him off. "I don't really want to know about your post-curfew escapades."

"I didn't mean that." Squall's expression was of dismay.

"Just kidding!" Though she couldn't reach him, she would have given him a knowing nudge if she could. "You're no fun, Squall."

This time, Squall refused to dignify her with a reply. Quistis folded her arms over her chest, glowering at him. "Fine, if that's the way you want it. You know, I've told you this many times before, and so have other people, but for once, try and cheer up, okay? You look like a thunderstorm."

Squall grunted slightly. "Whatever." Feeling the sudden need to get away from her surly student, Quistis did not open her mouth again.

------------------------

Why was it that when something finally realises its full potential, it somehow loses the charm that made it so affecting and special in the first place? Selphie had been excited about the Garden Festival almost immediately since her transfer from Trabia, and yet now she was verging on disappointment with the finished product. As good as it looked, the multitude of bells and whistles seemed to detract from the purity and the lowly magic of the ramshackle stage which originally dominated the Quad.

Considering the mass of anecdotes she could relate about the subject, she had a right to be proud of her achievements as the head of the Garden Festival Committee. Taking over the unenviable mantle from the departing Wimbly Donner, she had managed to turn around the fortunes of the annual inauguration ceremony into something which turned other Gardens green with envy. Balamb had a reputation for enticing unsigned bands to play at the Festival, therefore increasing their popularity – but the Festival also captured the maverick spirit and energy they conveyed.

But now, having elevated the Festival to the level of a near-commercial insitution, she was unsatisfied with the excessive exposure Balamb Garden was recieving from their friends in other continents. They could now reel in musicians with burgeoning popularity throughout Galbadia and Dollet – but where was the fun in that? It seemed ridiculous that she was thinking this way, but her mind had an interesting way of decoding situations. Subconsciously, there was something unsatisfying about taking things for granted.

Slowly, she reached over the stage and retrieved the acoustic guitar situated on the edge of the wooden construction. She didn't wonder why it was there; although the Quad hadn't been frequented by students or musicians lately, there were some who would know it was her place of solitude. Keeping her unrushed movement, she settled the instrument into her lap, cradling it like a newborn child, fingers clasped around the curved body. It was a thing of beauty, a device that relied not on precision machining, but was cut unprofessionally and constructed through age-old, trusted methods. And yet, like the Festival before, it was perfection embodied.

She wasn't entirely surprised when she saw a flickering at the corner of her eye, a small disturbance which soon became a cream-coloured speck, growing larger as it became more prominent. Of course, Irvine always knew that Selphie departed to the Quad when in need of some personal seclusion, and thus when she vanished from the Cafeteria soon after chewing quiescently through her breakfast, he'd know just where to find her.

As he propped himself up on the stage, resting his knee on the wood, Selphie turned her head to one side and flashed her grin at him. It still puzzled Irvine as to how she could make a grin childlike without appearing childish, never too close to austere seriousness or immaturity.

"S'up, Sefie," he greeted her, tossing his hat up into the air. It bounced off his outstretched fingers as he attempted to catch it on the way down.

She winked at him. "Nice catch. I bet you were 'Three Strikes Irvine' in baseball."

"Nah," he replied, seemingly unoffended. "They always gave me four strikes, 'cause I was so bad at it. And you know what happened?"

"You hit it on the fourth strike?"

"Nope, four straight strikes." She giggled slightly. "So, you know how to play that thing?"

"No, I just thought it looked nice. You can teach me if you like..."

"Will I ever!" Irvine grinned, and launched himself at the stage. Eagerly scooping the instrument out of her hands, and placing his own hands gently upon the strings. "Now," he said, positioning his finger on the neck of the guitar, "a guitar is like a woman's body. You have the elegant neck, the curves, the rounded shape..." As he turned the instrument around to reveal the hollow, Selphie made a sound somewhere between a cough and a snigger. "What?"

"Nothing."

"Anyway." He plucked one of the strings, resulting in a dissonant twang. "That is a C. When a woman laughs, it is the sweetest sound, playful and refined. When a woman reprimands you, shouts at you for doing something wrong or is generally on a PMS bender—" he yanked one of the strings, producing a dark, vaguely ominous sound, "—that's an E. And then, there's the flirty part..." He strummed gently, producing a gentle, optimistic timbre. "That's an A. Which makes ACE, if you put it all together."

"What about mood swings?" Selphie inquired coquettishly.

"Well..." Abruptly, he burst into song; strumming at misplaced intervals, creating a dirge of discordant sound, slowing and speeding without warning, to the sole accompaniment of his stamping foot, each impact seemingly on a different bar. Just as swiftly as he had started, it vanished with a single resounding intonation. "That's an F."

"How does that fit in? FACE?"

"No. It stands for 'Fucking hell, I married a psycho!'" He leapt up from his squat, and thrust the guitar back into her hands. "Here. Your turn." He took her hands and placed them on the neck of the instrument, organising her fingers appropriately.

"You have big hands," she said with a vaguely teasing smile. "Does that mean you have big feet too?"

"I suppose so."

"Well, you know what they say about big feet..."

"Yeah, big shoes." He located her free fingers, and with the plectrum firnly in place, began to strum one of the strings, shifting her finger up and down the neck. Selphie, though, seemed unimpressed, and stiffened her hand so he couldn't move it any further. "What's the problem?"

"Hang on a second," she said, peeling his hands away, "I think I've got it." And without warning, her fingers swiftly started to move back and forth, producing an elegiac, shimmering, wordless ballad, punctuated with the occasional tap of a toe.

"What was that all about?" he insisted, frowning at her.

"That's what guys are like. They're simple."

"No, I mean, about you not being able to play."

Selphie waved a hand in front of his eyes, trying to remove the imaginary fog that was clouding his judgment. "Earth to Irvy! Don't you remember the concert, at FH?" An embarrassed look creased his brow, and as he lowered his eyes with a groan, Selphie poked him gently.

"Still, you're the best music teacher I ever had." His eyes met hers, and though neither smiled, it wasn't entirely necessary. As they gazed at each other, each waiting for the other to take advantage, the intercom sounded.

"Major bummer!" Selphie exclaimed. "Well, I guess I'd better go, huh?" And she paced away, it seemed like she was almost too eager to depart. Irvine shrugged, retrieving the guitar. _Women. No point in trying to understand 'em, is there?_

------------------------

The train ride, while uneventful, was in a similar vein to the previous ride in the other direction, albeit with less vocal contribution from the two passengers. Squall, who seemed almost pleased (a word not used very often in relation to him) with his contribution to the mission, had chosen to retire to the private cabin. Quistis, on the other hand, chose to leave her erstwhile student to his own devices. A less persistent person might have given up long ago, and even one with more than a small measure of common sense and patience would have trouble continuing with the tireless quest to figure out what made him tick. But even being an unusually tenacious individual didn't stop Quistis from losing heart sometimes, and this was one of those.

So the remainder of the journey was spent with the two peace representatives in quiet seclusion, and not more than three words was exchanged between them throughout. It seemed like both were either too tired or simply unwilling to make conversation, and given the tiring nature of their mission, it was excusable. The train ground into Balamb Station a short while later, and for convenience, the Garden was situated in its berth in the harbour.

The walk was notably quiet, even without the punctuation of quiet speech the two usually shared. When they reached the front gate, the headmaster was waiting for them. "You look unusually dour," he remarked. "Mission successful?"

"Check the news," Quistis replied. "You'll find that we engineered a peace agreement between the nations of Galbadia, Balamb and Trabia, with the input of their respective Gardens."

"Excellent!" Cid professed, with a boyish grin that never flattered his true emotions – and having achieved the goal Garden had been set up to accomplish, who'd blame him? "Well, I guess you're free for now then. I have a feeling this isn't finished yet, but for now, we can relax."

"I don't think the Galbadians are finished yet," Squall put in, startling the other two. "I'm not sure I trust Caraway that much – I was in the squad who tried to assassinate the Sorceress."

"He is Galbadia's president, Squall. Try and remember that. He may have his own motives, but he's under oath, and he can't try any tricks like that again."

"I bet they said the same about Deling," Quistis interjected. "And look how he turned out." Cid, seemingly defeated, remained stoic and silent, and also chose it as an opportune time to stalk off. Quistis regarded Squall with a puzzled look.

"What was that about?" Squall's response was a typically detached shrug, not appearing to care about the subject that much.

"Who cares," he put in.

Quistis took a pace backward in mock horror. "You sounded like Seifer for a moment there. That's scary, Squall."

"Well, anyway..." Squall began, "I guess I'd better head off. I've still got some things to sort out."

"Someone, or something?"

"I think you know," Squall replied mysteriously, and trudged away in the direction of the main hall. Although Quistis set about heading for her classroom in an intent march, it wasn't five seconds before she stumbled across Seifer, striding with a wanton purpose.

"What a pleasant surprise," Quistis announced. It was possibly a half-joking tone, but Seifer didn't pick up on either the humour or the quiet antipathy.

"Listen," Seifer butted in, as if they'd been conversing for hours without solution. "I thought to myself; what am I gonna be doing tonight? And the answer is, nothin'. So, I figured I'd take you out tonight. For a a drink, you know? No promises."

"That's very noble of you," Quistis remarked, retaining her sardonic tone.

"Go on. It's not like you've got anything planned."

"And how are you going to pay for it? You haven't got Gil to toss in the fountain."

Seifer grinned. "Bribes? Blood money? I'll think of something." Before Quistis countered with another sarcastic jibe, he continued. "Come on. Way I see it, you need to pay me back for last night."

"It wasn't that great, Seifer." She caught the exaggerated look of offence on his face. "Oh, alright then. You twisted my arm."

He winced. "Ouch. Sorry."

------------------------

"Have you thought about relationships lately, Zell?"

It was suppertime at the Dinchts' place now, and though Pa Dincht was conspicuously absent from the meal, there was a sense of communion and warm cheer between young man and adoptive mother. Unfortunately, she had just chosen to pose the kind of question which prompted embarrassed eye-shifting and a slight flush in the cheeks.

"Not really," he replied. "I mean, I don't really have time for that kind of thing right now. I'm studying too much." He shovelled mashed potatoes into his mouth without reservation, almost intending to prevent himself from saying any more. That wasn't going to deter Ma Dincht, though.

"You know," she replied, selecting a bowl of salad situated next to her, "I think a girlfriend would do you good. You should have an older one, one that'll take care of you."

"Nah," Zell replied. "I'm not thinking about it right now."

"But you're at that age, aren't you? Most boys your age think about girls all the time."

"Well," Zell mused, exchanging the bowl with Ma Dincht and spooning green leaves onto his plate, "this isn't the kind of thing you discuss with your mother. You know? It's kind of strange."

"There's nothing you can tell me that I don't already know, Zell," she smiled, which seemed to be an attempt to sound understanding but conjured some eyebrow-raising on Zell's part. "I mean, I met Pa Dincht when I was your age..." This prompted some amusing thoughts – an immediate one, of Pa Dincht delving into The Girl Next Door while on the toilet, almost made him stop chewing and smirk.

It didn't fool Ma Dincht. "And no laughing. This is serious."

"How did you know?"

"I'm your mother," she said dismissively. "I know exactly what you're thinking regardless of whether I'm a woman. But I'd like a conversation on a standard level, okay?" As Zell tore a large chunk out of his burger, he lowered his eyes in embarrassment.

"What about that girl? The one with the pigtail."

Zell coughed waveringly. "Mina?"

"Is that her name? Well, what happened?"

"Nothin' happened, Ma," Zell denied, returning to scooping food into his mouth to avoid pondering the subject. "There was never anything between us."

"That's not the impression I got," she denied. "If there was nothing between you, why did she conveniently choose to stop by here last week to 'check up on you'?"

Now Zell was flushing. "Wh-what?"

"Oh yes, I didn't tell you, did I? I wonder why she came round. She didn't seem like she wanted something specific – maybe she just wanted to say hello?"

"Maybe." His mouth still crammed with food, he drained his glass in one long gulp. "I don't know what to shay. I mean, I washn't told about thish..."

"I don't really know what to shay either," Ma Dincht replied. "Seems you're trying to hide something from me."

"No offence, but if I had a girlfriend, I don't think we'd spend all day round here."

"I think they'd be put off by your room. All that unwashed underwear, lying all over the floor..."

"I wouldn't even let 'em in my damn room!" Zell exclaimed. "That's my sacred place!"

"Still," Ma Dincht chuckled, beginning to gather cutlery and glasses as the meal, "I'd like to meet her in person someday, this girl of yours. Our last encounter was a 'hello – goodbye' affair."

"I told ya, she's not my girlfriend!" Zell protested. "We're friends, that's all."

"That's what your dad told his. You sounded just like him for a second there." Zell stretched an arm across the table to snatch the last piece of bread. "Zell, that's rude," she reprimanded him. "Haven't you got a tongue?"

"Yeah, but my arm's longer." Before she could even smirk, it was stuffed in his mouth.

------------------------

Galbadians, for all their promises of change and re-adaption, had an unfortunate reputation for being selfish, confrontational people. As was the case with all stereotypes, some didn't fit this description; detrimentally for their cause, however, those who often represented the country or gave it a public image seemed to embody every misconception about the nation.

The wine bar in the Galbadia hotel was, according to the connoisseurs who frequented it, one of the finest and most accommodating any country had to offer. However, the extortionate pricing and upper-class company who made every public visitor feel inadequate did nothing to help their cause.

Quistis and Seifer, now dressed in evening wear so far removed from their usual fashions and dress code they might as well have been from a different country, seemed oblivious to all those around them. Though their faces betrayed none of the emotions they were feeling at the time, the general unspoken consensus was that they were two lovers simply enjoying each other's fellowship.

"Yoo-hoo? Anything to drink?" Seifer asked, waving a placard in front of her face. She flashed him an imperceptible smile.

"Wine. But I choose which one."

"When you say, 'I choose which one,' that doesn't mean 'choose the one that will drain poor Seifer's wallet of every Gil he's worked so hard to obtain.'"

"Poor Seifer. What an oxymoron."

"If I didn't know any better, I'd think you were teasing me."

"'If I didn't know any better...' How could you possibly know any worse?"

Seifer placed a hand on his heart, seemingly penetrated by Quistis' sharp words. "Instructor, that hurts. I never had you tagged as a vicous woman."

Quistis gave him a raised eyebrow, forging a look that said more than her words conveyed. "Are you a betting man, Seifer?"

"I can't afford to be bankrupt." Quistis gave him another sharp look, but this time said nothing. It didn't matter, as Quistis had an uncanny ability to put more emotion into a look than most could put into three sentences. This particular look meant "I don't actually believe a word of what you're going to say tonight, but so long as you know you haven't fooled me for a second, we can communicate on the same wavelength."

Seifer again demonstrated with his hand how he loved to exert authority over all those near him. "So, did you enjoy your day?"

"Replace 'enjoy' with 'endure', and you're on the right road."

"Poor Quistis. It's a hard life being an Instructor."

"You know how Squall is... All his crap about doing the mission and not getting any personal involvements gets in the way." Quistis selected a crisp white wine, and the waiter promptly departed.

"Do you mind if I smoke?"

"I don't care if you burn."

He chose to try a different technique, as he drew one of the long white sticks out of his shirt pocket and lit it on the candle. "You know, this is the second time you and I have been surrounded by waiters and party guests inside a week," Seifer remarked.

"You've been counting?"

"No. Have you?"

"Just assumed, that's all." The candle in the centre of the table flickered slightly. "So – and not meaning to sound redundant or boring here – but what's your view on women?"

"Ah." Seifer settled into a lounging position, almost indicating that they were now firmly in his territory. "The fairer sex, eh? Well, I have a feeling every woman in the world finds me absolutely irresistible—"

Quistis practically choked with laughter. "Guess I'm in a minority then."

Seifer took the opportunity to resurrect his pained look. "I'm so offended. Really."

"Not as much as I am."

"But seriously, I know how to please a woman." Seifer was now basking in his own smugness, and Quistis wouldn't have been too surprised if he had chosen to place his feet on the table. "I know exactly what you're thinking, Instructor."

"You wouldn't know romance if I made you write a composition about it."

Seifer smirked arrogantly. "Romance? Who said anything about romance? And I wouldn't submit the composition anyway."

"Let me guess – you're a one-night kind of guy."

"Well, as many nights as you can get before 'When are we going to tell everyone?'"

Quistis signalled for the waiter to stop pouring. "I bet you'll be a lot of fun when you meet your prospective in-laws. 'How did you two first meet?' 'Well, I was kind of drunk at the time...'" This time, it was a exchange of laughter between the couple.

"Thanks," Seifer nodded at the waiter, and his dismissal now seemed to indicate how he'd been brought down a rung on the ladder of respect.

"Oh, I enjoy being facetious," Quistis laughed self-reverently.

"Nice word. I don't have a clue what it means, but it's nice anyway."

"I wouldn't expect any less from you," she assured him. "I mean, you're a guy, and you also happen to be the same guy I was talking to five minutes ago."

"Yeah, but that guy also knows how much every woman in the world loves him."

"Also the same guy who thinks love and sex are two totally different things..."

"They can exist without each other, trust me." He frowned furtively. "What? Did I say sumthin' funny?"

"Not meaning to exert my... feminstic wiles on you, but I always thought men were misguided. They think they know something without substantiation."

"Can you translate that? I mean, make it simpler for a dumb asshole like me to understand?"

"How do you know they can exist without each other when you've only experienced one of them?"

"Well, sex isn't love, but it means something." He twisted his mouth into something between a grimace and a wince. "I'm not into devotion."

"Yeah, but surely going all the way with someone requires you to like them a little bit, doesn't it?"

"I haven't 'gone all the way' with someone I can't stand, if that's what you're hinting at."

"What about you, Seifer?" Quistis was enjoying poking fun at her sparring partner. "What if it's the other way round? What if they can't stand _you_?"

"Oh, that's never happened."

"You're sure about that?" The odds had swung in the Instructor's favour - Quistis 2, Seifer 0. "I mean, I agreed to accompany you on this sojourn..."

"Yeah, but you like me."

"Oh yeah, silly me. This is Seifer I'm talking to."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

Quistis put the edge of the glass to her lips. "A dumb asshole could never understand."

"Simplify?"

"I'll have to put something between us if we're going to continue. There."

Any traces of Seifer's humour seemed to have been lost in the aroma of seafish drifting around the hotel bar. "Now you've lost me completely. Where the hell is this conversation going?"

"Bang. There's your manhood coming into things..."

"Really, Miss Trepe, what are you talking about?"

"Ah, yes. If I think of something completely different, it'll all run more smoothly. Yes, that's it."

Seifer frowned, seeming to catch the interested glances of the other patrons of the bar. "Well, I think we'd better call it a day. We haven't even got started on the food yet, and if you want to know, I'm kind of scared about what effect the lobster's gonna have."

"Seifer, I'm wondering what else you can do. That was lacking a spark, I'm afraid." She unhooked her handbag from the back of the chair, and looped the strap over her arm. As she walked out, purposefully ignoring Seifer's confused gaze, an observer might have noticed the hint of a smile which crept across her face. While he remained oblivious to her whole elegant charade, the situation had worked out rather nicely for her – if a free drink was evidence enough of that.

As the waiter began to hover nearby in search of payment, Seifer's response seemed to be aimed at the departing Instructor. "I'll pay, then."

------------------------

As night fell on the Balamb continent, Zell was sitting cross-legged on his bedroom floor, blinds flapping in a light ocean breeze drifting in through an open window. The sky was now rife with thick waves of dark blue cloud, with an area of lighter blue on the northern horizon where the outer reaches of the world were still enjoying daylight.

Zell was thumbing through an old diary Pa Dincht had created many years previously, feeling almost apprehensive now that he was studying the mindset of another person, especially one who was very close to him. Pa Dincht's personal contemplations revealed a facet of his personality he'd never displayed before – much more impressionable and perceptive than he'd expected for a travelling workman. He'd always thought of his father as a brash, insensitive artisan – and the diary seemed to give justification for the contrary.

What was it my uncle told me about women? "A woman is like a fine wine; delicious, elegant, perfect, and gets better with age." I guess he forgot to mention that wine makes you drunk, too. I vowed I'd never get involved seriously with a girl, and now here I am. He always told me that women aren't to be taken in earnest, and that they were only a distraction. But I'm thinking differently.

A lot has happened, but I'm at a crossroads. I'm not sure whether I should continue this as it is now, but if I break it off, I could regret it. Is she the one? I don't know.

I'm afraid of devotion, I suppose. But why? If I love her, what's the problem? Maybe I don't want to give my freedom up just like that. I'm still young, and it's kind of difficult to give it all away just like that – and once you've done it, there's no going back.

The entry finished there. He flicked through a few more sections, moving a thick section of paper aside as he moved forward.

We found out today that we can't have any children. Sometimes, that drives a wedge between a couple, but it hasn't affected us too badly. Obviously, I'm upset – how could I not be? I'll never see miniature versions of myself scampering around, tripping over, playing on the beach with other children... It's the kind of thing that makes a man feel unhappy, thinking about things too much.

But we still want a family, and just because they aren't really our own, doesn't mean it's not worth a shot. She mentioned adoption, and I'm inclined to agree. If we get a son, he might be the opposite of me – but I still want to raise one anyway. That's the greatest thing about having kids – you don't know what you'll get, but you'll never know unless you try. Maybe we'll drop in at that place she mentioned – somewhere in Centra, I think.

Casually, Zell stuffed the leather-bound books into the box he'd retrieved them from and slid it under his bed, ensuring it was locked. It was a strange thing to intrude on someone's private space, but in many ways, it helped him realise he wasn't the only one with these thoughts. Maybe – perish the thought – his ma was right. On one hand, he was still young, and commitment was a full-time vocation. But still, maybe she was 'the one'? Stranger things had happened. Still immersed in his own thoughts, as he had seemingly been for the past few days, he clicked the light off, and laid down on his bed. He drifted off inside a minute.

------------------------

Well, what about that? Done, finally. I don't really think that was worth the wait, but my opinion doesn't matter, does it? It's you readers who count.

And yeah, I noticed the bit about Caraway's first name too. I mean, what would you expect from the company who created Einhander? They seem to have a capacity for strange names.

Anywho, send all your opinions to the usual address. Anything you liked, disliked, things you think I should include, put it all in there. And you can mention my references too. I'm still waiting for someone to pick up on the ones in Retaliation...


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